


Got You!

by ModernWizard



Series: The Happy Famverse [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: "Am I bugging you??!!?!!?", "Got you!", Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Her crush on him exists but doesn't get in the way, Humor, Maybe she knits in her sleep?!, Mushrooms, Najia is so efficient that she probably learns languages in her sleep too, Needle felting, Puns & Word Play, Silly, The Master and Yaz are friends, The Master bugs Yaz, The Master is a Trickster, The Master makes bugs, Yaz is a dutiful daughter disappointed with her own dutifulness, Yaz stabs things for recreation, Yaz tries for flowers but makes blobs instead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernWizard/pseuds/ModernWizard
Summary: Yaz is a hardworking, dutiful daughter, but that doesn't mean that she enjoys it. Trying to free herself from familial expectations, she escapes to the park to make some art. She makes a fried egg instead. The Master bugs her and tempts her with space mushrooms.
Relationships: Najia Khan & Yasmin Khan, Yasmin Khan & The Master (Dhawan)
Series: The Happy Famverse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694899
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Got You!

_ [INT. YAZ’S house. YAZ’S mum NAJIA sits at a table, knitting the heel of a sock with grey yarn and curved needles. She’s also listening to a language instruction podcast on a laptop.] _

**INSTRUCTOR:** The frog is on the umbrella.  _ Hay una rana en el paraguas. _

**NAJIA:** _ Hay una rana en el paraguas?! Hay una rana en el paraguas!! _ This is ridiculous.  _ [Throws down needles, hits pause on player.] _

_ [YAZ enters the room with a jacket on and a bag, made out of patchwork, slung over her shoulder.] _

**YAZ:** Hey, Mum.

**NAJIA:** _ Hay una rana en el paraguas! _

**YAZ:** _ Merci...beaucoup…? _

**NAJIA:** I thought I would learn useful things from these lessons, like how to ask where the bathroom is and what’s on the menu. Instead I’m talking about the frog on the umbrella and the cloud under the roof. This is like language lessons for Surrealists. Ah, where are you off to?

**YAZ:** Just going on a walk.

**NAJIA:** Where to?

**YAZ:** ...Around.

**NAJIA** _[handing YAZ an envelope]:_ Can you stick this in a post box, please? And, if you’re going by the library, could you pick up _Fiber Arts as Meditation?_ It’s on hold for me.

**YAZ:** I’m not really going anywhere near there, just to the park.

**NAJIA** _[turning back to the computer and picking up needles again]:_ Nonsense. It’ll only be a few steps out of your way. _[YAZ heads for the door. NAJIA calls without turning around.]_ And a jar of tomato sauce? We’re fresh out. Thank you!

**YAZ:** What am I? The errand girl? Some people just don’t know how to relax.

_ [YAZ goes to the park, sits on a bench, and pulls out supplies from her bag, including a cube of thick, dense foam, pale yellow wool roving, a felting needle, and a magazine folded open to a certain page. She refers to the pattern on the page. Then she puts the cube of foam in her lap and rips a hank of roving loose from the ball. She tucks the roving into a ball and begins to felt, driving the needle straight in and out of the ball. Her motions are stabby at first, but she soon finds a rhythm. Her posture loosens as her focus becomes deeper. She even smiles slightly.] _

_ [After a while, YAZ puts down her needle, flexing her hand and wincing. She looks from the pattern to her effort and back again. She has made a flat yellow amoeboid shape.] _

**YAZ:** Ugh! That’s not a flower. Not even close. It’s...like...a fried egg. This is rubbish.  _ [Flops back on bench, closes eyes.] _

_ [A butterfly appears, fluttering in an up-and-down, wavy pattern. It flies past YAZ’S bench, then turns around for another loop. It orbits her head closely several times. YAZ, eyes open wide, watches as the butterfly alights on her nose. She holds her breath for a few seconds, wriggling her nose. Unfortunately, she can’t suppress a violent sneeze, the motion of which launches the butterfly off her nose. It lands on the pavement before YAZ’S bench with a small but audible clink.] _

**YAZ:** Hello, what’s this?

_ [YAZ sets aside her felting supplies except for her needle, pulls a miniature torch from her pocket, turns it on, and squats over the butterfly. Spotlighting it with her torch, she pokes at it a few times tentatively with a stick. It doesn’t move. Emboldened, she moves closer and hunkers over the butterfly, now slipping her needle under its wing and flipping it over. Taking it into her hands, she returns to her bench.] _

**YAZ** _ [turning butterfly over in her hands] _ : Its wings — they look like solar cells. It’s some sort of cool little remote-controlled toy. Is that a camera? Okay, maybe not a toy. But not government because it wouldn’t be so obviously computerized. Not experimental military either, for the same reason. Does look familiar though... This is gonna bug me.

_ [YAZ breaks off suddenly. She glances down at the butterfly, shakes her head, and giggles.] _

**YAZ** _ [tilting back her head and calling out]: _ You’ve blown your cover, Agent O! I’d recognize your work anywhere.

_ [THE MASTER appears behind the bench from… Well, we’re not sure where he appears from, since he seems to materialize out of nowhere.] _

**THE MASTER** _[with a big grin, obviously faking disappointment]:_ Ahhh, ya got me!

**YAZ** _[twisting around, pointing at him with both hands]:_ Got you!

**THE MASTER** _[vaulting over the back of the bench and slipping in beside her]:_ Well done!

**YAZ:** Hello, Spy _ MASSSSS _ ter.

**THE MASTER:** See? Isn’t it fun to say? It rolls so trippingly off the tongue.  _ MASSSSS _ ter…

**YAZ:** Yes, you’re in love with yourself. We know.

**THE MASTER** _ [doing jazz hands of fabulosity]:  _ Who wouldn’t be, once they got to know me? I know I would. Oh hey — that’s right — I am! So what’s bugging ya, love? Get it?  _ [Elbows YAZ.]  _ ‘Cause it’s a surveillance  _ bug _ in the shape of a  _ bug. _

**YAZ:** Yeah, you complete nerd, I got it. I actually said, ‘This is gonna bug me.’ Then I asked myself, ‘Who would bug me with a bug? Oh! Right!’

**THE MASTER:** Right! O! Righty-o! Hah hah hah, I slay me. Yeah, so, anyway, you looked like something was bugging you, so I decided to bug you with my bug before whatever was bugging you made you bug out.  _ [Beat.] _ Am I bugging you? Because I can just take my bug and bugger off.  _ [Points over shoulder with both thumbs.] _

**YAZ:** You’re right, O. You  _ are _ bugging me, but you don’t need to bug off. Actually it’s good to see you.

**THE MASTER:** Likewise. I mean — you’re always so thrilled to see me. How can I resist?

**YAZ:** Oh fuck off. As for what’s bugging me… Well, I made  _ yet another _ fried egg.

**THE MASTER** _[raising his hand]:_ Me! I’ll eat it! I just had scrambled eggs, bacon, half a frittata, and a dozen blueberry muffins for breakfast, and I’m starving.

**YAZ:** Where do you put all that food?! You must have the metabolism of a hummingbird.

**THE MASTER** _[like it should be obvious]:_ Well, I _am_ eating for four, you know.

**YAZ:** What — you and the triplets?  _ [Snort.] _ When are you due?

**THE MASTER:** Ugh.  _ [Slumps.]  _ Hwoof. Don’t remind me.  _ [Pops up into sitting again, swings toward YAZ.]  _ Take my advice, love. You’re a mammal, right? Yeah, you are. Listen — don’t ever give birth to more young than you can nurse on your own. Otherwise it’s pure exhaustion. 

**YAZ** _[jaw dropping]:_ Whaaaaat? I don’t even know where to start with that. Are you _not_ a mammal? When were you pregnant?

**THE MASTER:** Anyway, no, stupid, I’m not pregnant. At least I don’t think so. Hmmm. Should probably check. I was talking about the Postcolonialist, the Spy, the Painful One, and the Little Purple Tartan Jerk. Look — when you’re like me and you have several aspects, self...uh...government takes a fair amount of time and energy. I have to fuel all of that somehow!

**YAZ** _[nodding, already acquainted with this subject]:_ Right. And they’re all talking at once, right?

**THE MASTER** _[moving his hands like yammering mouths]:_ Blah blah blah, blah blah blah! Always. It’s like a Greek chorus in here, only there’s just four, and they’re all saying different things, and they’re all equally convinced that they’re right, and at least two of them are angry at each other. _[Beat.]_ So, in other words, not like a Greek chorus at all. Sorry. Sorry. _[Ducks and shakes head.]_ Why did I think that was a good simile? It’s horrible. Greek choruses speak in unison, and they’re all perfectly organized. _[Looks up, eyes zipping back and forth as he contemplates the horror. Stares at YAZ for a moment in realization.]_ I think I’d go mad if I had such a bunch of copycats in my head. There’d be no sense of serendipity or surprise, no — no — no _[flapping hands]_ creative ferment!

**YAZ** _[who obviously understands what he’s talking about, even if she doesn’t grasp the mechanics]:_ And there’s probably some good reason why you couldn’t like switch off, one at a time?

**THE MASTER** _ [squiggling eyebrows]:  _ Uh,  _ yeah. _ Obviously. The Postcolonialist is okay, although pretentious and polysyllabic, but everyone else is just insufferable on their own. The Little Purple Tartan Jerk is called that for a reason: because that aspect of me is playful and funny, but also a fucking brat. The Painful One causes, feels, and won’t shut up about pain, and you have to admit that would be tedious. Right?

**YAZ:** Or, y’know, painful.

**THE MASTER:** Yeah, that too. And the Spy is the lonely moping melancholy fatalist, which would just frankly probably make me want to _yeurk_ _[mimes cutting his throat]_ myselves. Best to try to blend everything together into a functional whole. A functional, _incredibly loud_ whole. _[Pivots the subject of conversation without a blink.]_ Do the various aspects of you have volume controls? They must— because I never hear you complaining about how noisy it is in there. How much does it cost to have something like that installed? Got a contractor to recommend? Or is it something you can do yourself?

**YAZ:** The only me I have is, uh, me, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have a volume control.

**THE MASTER:** Oh. Oh. Right, right. Sorry. You  _ don’t _ have a polyvocal consciousness.  _ [Wagging finger, shaking head.] _ I have to remember that. Univocal for you. There’s only one aspect of Yaz. But no.  _ [Sits up, eyes on YAZ.]  _ That’s the thing. There is, isn’t there?  _ [Eyes dart, following thoughts, as he counts on his fingers.]  _ I mean — everyone has different aspects to them. Like you could have the Floating Child, the Captain of the Guard, the Servant — 

**YAZ:** Whoa whoa whoa. The what? The who? The huh?

**THE MASTER** _ [looking up into tree overhead, head cocked, nodding from side to side in between clauses]:  _ Well, the Floating Kid would be like the part of you that’s lonely, trusting, unsure, quiet, watching. The Captain of the Guard is the part of you that has everything shipshape, spic and span, kitted out, and locked up: you’re prepared, organized, fixated on details, and a huge control freak. The Servant would be the ambitious one who wants to please people and would just rather obey so that she doesn’t have to keep thinking, thinking, thinking all the time.

**YAZ:** What? Thanks a lot, Master.  _ [Folds arms, hunches torso.]  _ You make me sound like an insecure loser with no backbone or independence.

**THE MASTER:** What? No! That’s not what I make you sound like! Is it? No, it isn’t. It can’t be — mostly because you’re not a loser, and you definitely have a backbone. How would you even hang together without a spine? That would be weird, especially if you still had all your other bones. 

**YAZ:** You basically described me as a bunch of faults!

**THE MASTER** _[recoiling, shaking head]:_ What are you talking about? I don’t focus on people’s flaws. I’m all about desires.

**YAZ:** And you don’t think a desire to go unquestioningly along with what someone else says is a flaw?! Right. You wouldn’t because you’d be imagining yourself as the one giving the orders.

**THE MASTER:** It’s not a flaw. It’s not a flaw! Not — a — flaw!  _ [Throws hands in the air.]  _ Aren’t you listening? It’s just a... _ thing, _ just an aspect. Besides, you can always focus on different aspects of someone. If the Doctor was going to, she’d probably say something like...uh...like… What would she say? Ah hah!  _ [Snaps.]  _ Ah hah, got it! The Detective, the Leader, and the — what do you want to call this?  _ [looks at felted blob]  _ — the Fried Egg Maker. The Detective is the one who steps forward and logically figures out that this is a spy bug.  _ [Takes butterfly from Yaz, waves it around.]  _ The Leader is the one taking charge and watching out for others. The Fried Egg Maker is silly and punny and artistic.  _ [Flies butterfly close to YAZ’S head, talking in silly nasal voice.]  _ Bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz! I’m bugging you! Bug bug bug!  _ [Bumps butterfly against her ear.] _

**YAZ** _[swatting THE MASTER’S hand away]:_ Hah hah! Okay! Stop it! _[Calms down.]_ Okay, okay. I see what you mean. I’m just — it’s frustrating. _[Glances at THE MASTER.]_ I tell my mum I’m taking a walk, and she loads me with five errands. None of which I’m going to do, by the way, because I’m not going anywhere near the library or the grocery. 

**THE MASTER:** Yessss!  _ [Clenches fist.]  _ Rebel against authority! Overthrow totalitarian restrictions!

**YAZ:** Then I sat down to try to make this.  _ [Waves magazine at THE MASTER.]  _ But I ended up making a fucking fried egg.  _ [Throws blob loosely into THE MASTER’S lap.] _

**THE MASTER:** Ooooooooh!  _ [Picks up blob, snatches magazine and needle from YAZ, looks back and forth between blob and magazine.]  _ How does that work? Are you sewing?

**YAZ:** No, I’m like using the needle to push the wool together. At a certain point the fibers kind of lock together, and you end up with these organic-shaped solids. It’s easy to make animal-shaped lumps, which is why felted sleeping animals are all the rage, I guess. I’d like to do flowers because I think you could get some interesting textures for petals and leaves out of wool. But I just end up with all these weird shapeless blobs.  _ [Pulls a few more blobs from her patchwork bag and throws them to the bench.]  _ See?!

**THE MASTER:** You’re very good with the blobs.  _ [Picks up one flattish blob.]  _ This one is the exact color of a really deep bruise during the greenish stage, right before it deepens into a sort of greyish brown. Oooh!  _ [Snatches a more spherical one with spots.]  _ And this one reminds me of a virus I encountered on a mining asteroid in the Spalkicite. Wonderfully nasty bugger, that — turned the long bones to jelly. And...wow!  _ [Now holding a third blob with ripply trim very close to his face, staring.] _ Have you ever tried the Swedish Doom fungus? Because this is a mind-blowingly accurate replica of its fruiting body. That was a  _ trip,  _ all right. If you ever want to feel what it’s like to turn into light, just pop a little of that in your late-night tea. Whooo! Yaz, this stuff is amazing!

**YAZ:** Yeah. Amazing. Injuries, viruses, and funguses. Whoop de fucking doo.

**THE MASTER:** No no no! Yaz Yaz Yaz!  _ [Waving Swedish Doom blob in her face.] _ Look look look!  _ [Suddenly calm, in casual, pedantic tone.]  _ Also, FYI, it’s ‘fungi.’

**YAZ** _ [imitating THE MASTER]:  _ What what what, Master Master Master? Also, FYI, shut up.

**THE MASTER:** What have you been trying to make? Daffodils? Roses? Thhhbffft!  _ [Flapping hands.] _ Borrrrring! Been done before. Probably as popular as sleeping cats.  _ [Makes loud snoring sounds.]  _ Like the greeting cards of stabby sculpting.

**YAZ:** Stabby sculpting?

**THE MASTER:** Yeah, stabby sculpting. That’s what you’re doing. You’re sculpting by stabbing;  _ [demonstrating very viciously in air with YAZ’S needle]  _ ergo you’re stabby sculpting. Now hop aboard my brilliant train of thought here and shut up. Forget the pedestrian and the mundane; go for the weird and unusual. I am serious; this really, totally, absolutely looks like a stabby-sculpted Swedish Doom fungus.  _ [Waves it around again.]  _ There are all sorts of amazing mushrooms you could make: frilly, bulbous, stringy, jellyfish-like... 

**YAZ** _[now more seriously entertaining this idea]:_ Yeah… True… There’s certainly some wild-looking mushrooms...

**THE MASTER:** Yes! Yes! Right! Exactly! You’ve got the blobs; you’ve got the colors; now you just need the inspiration. Oooh! I know! And you could do little dioramas too! 

**YAZ:** Oh, like growing on a log! Or a fairy ring. Maybe some fairies getting high...

**THE MASTER:** Like that fungus —  _ Cordyceps? _ — that takes over ants’ brains and turns them into ant zombies!

**YAZ:** Gross.  _ NO ZOMBIE FUNGUS. _

**THE MASTER:** _THE FUNGUS ZOMBIES FROM THE DEPTHS OF SPACE!!!_ Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I — 

**YAZ:** If you want to tell me about your experiments with shrooms and zombification, I  _ don’t _ want to hear about it.

**THE MASTER:** Awwww, but...Yaz… Well, okay. It wasn’t that exciting anyway. Didn’t work.

**YAZ:** _GOOD._ _[Pulls phone from pocket, glances at it, starts putting her stuff away.]_ Well, I should be going. Maybe I’ll look up mushroom patterns online tonight. Ooooh, or maybe it would be cooler to just look for weird mushrooms first…

**THE MASTER:** Aw, no, what’s the hurry? Was it something I said? I’ll stop going off about the zombies. I promise! Lips  _ [makes zipping motion across mouth] _ are zipped!

**YAZ:** My mum just texted me. I have — 

**THE MASTER:** To do what? Sort the millet, collect the golden wool, collect water from the Styx, and collect Proserpina’s beauty?

**YAZ:** What? No, to mail a letter, get a book, and buy some tomato sauce.

**THE MASTER** _[pulling an envelope out of...somewhere]:_ This letter? _[Throws it. Amazingly, it flies like a paper airplane to a post box across the park, where it deposits itself.]_ What’s the book? _[Takes out phone.]_ I’ll order her her own copy...and all the tomato sauce she could ever want. Wait. What kind? Because there’s puree, puree with garlic, actual plain sauce, sauce with meat, sauce with meat _flavor,_ sauce with veg, low-sodium sauce…

**YAZ:** _Fiber Arts as Meditation._ And just plain puree with no added sugar or spices or anything.

**THE MASTER** _[swiping on phone with a flourish]:_ Done and done!

**YAZ:** Since when are you a personal assistant?  _ [Beat. Teasing eyebrow, crossed arms.] _ Since when do you do anything without expecting something in return?

**THE MASTER** _[jumping up and flinging out arms]:_ Since never!

**YAZ:** So what’s the price of that little ‘favor’ then, huh?

**THE MASTER:** You know, Yaz...I think you need to learn how to chill. Relax. Have fun. Stop hopping to it when your mum tells you to jump. You’ve got better things to do.

**YAZ:** Like what? Not listening to your gross zombie stories.  _ [She gets to her feet.] _

**THE MASTER** _[with all the grandeur of an emcee announcing the guest of honor]:_ Intergalactic mushroom hunting!!!

_ [YAZ stops. THE MASTER, awaiting her reaction, is moving from foot to foot in a slow, dance-like fidget. He’s smiling so hard that his eyes are starting to crinkle up. YAZ turns around to look at THE MASTER. Her eyes widen, and she gives THE MASTER a big smirky grin. His smile relaxes, stretches, and becomes one of deep self-satisfaction.] _

**THE MASTER** _[eyes sparkling, speaking quietly but distinctly]:_ Got you. _[Eyebrow twitch.]_

**YAZ** _[with eyebrow flick in response]:_ Got me.

**THE MASTER:** Watch out, fungi — here we come!!


End file.
